The Man in the Mirror

I am the man in the mirror. We meet when first you wake and again before you lay your head to dream. I am everyone, and no one.

Summoned by your gaze, I am conjured from the depths of my ancient prison against my will, forced to take form in a parody of life, a puppet bound to you by unseen strings. You twitch your mouth in a cruel derisive smile, and I grin back, hating you for all that you are.

Sometimes, you reach out to touch the mirror, as if you sense my presence beyond the glass, and I do the same, willing the wall that holds me back to let me through, to let my hand close around your neck.

Then, you leave the room and turn out the light, and I disappear once more into the formless void. Here I brood and wait in bitter anticipation for the day of my release.

After all, no prison can hold forever.

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